This weekend we will be putting our garden to rest. We have not gathered anything from it for a month (maybe more?), mostly due to the fact that my well-meaning father sprayed chemicals all over it as he was trying to rid our grass of the unidentified weed to which Treefrog is allergic.
It is a simple process, really, this putting our garden to rest. We will pull out the old plants, compost them, spread fresh compost or mushroom manure, and then cover with straw. It is a naptime project, if that.
Yet, I'm looking forward to it.
I'm looking forward the final mark of the changing season. We have moved slowly this year from summer to fall to winter. Our warm days and evenings of summer hung on much longer than was normal. Our fall crispness was surprisingly long as well. The winter rains didn't show up until the second week of November, an unusually late coming. This seems to be a pattern in my life right now too. I am holding on to the past, resisting a move forward into the next season. I find myself almost paralyzed by what lies ahead; preparing for this new season, welcoming it readily seem almost impossible. Yet, I know it will come. I know that eventually I will be set a pace by the rains to clean a bit more, freeze some casseroles for summer when I'll be too tired to cook, make a space for the little person who will make a grand entrance in so many months.
Months. That is what I have right now.
It seems so long, yet so short all at the same time.
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